Acceptance
by Missyhissy3
Summary: Set several weeks Post-Endgame; After visiting the monument on Tevlik's moon, en route back to Earth Janeway and Chakotay talk.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters obviously not mine. Copyright: Paramount/Christie Goldberg 'Homecoming'.

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Author's Note: Post-Endgame, several weeks, en route back to Earth in Chakotay's shuttle, The Alpha Flyer, Janeway and Chakotay talk. It is the evening of the day they visited the monument on Tevlik's moon, commemorating the 4256 men, women and children wiped out by the Cardassian orchestrated attack on this Maquis safe-haven. My scene takes place where Christie Goldberg leaves off in chapter 7 of her novel 'Homecoming' after they've visited the monument. The second part of my Chapter 2 follows the events she describes for Voyager's homecoming banquet, as I've continued her account of the banquet. Having said that, it's certainly not necessary to have read her novel to follow this.

The events in this story clear the way for my other story 'A Whole lot of Nothing' and could be read as a prequel. I started this one ages ago, but the other one kind of finished itself first. This story is the main course, that one is a fluffy dessert. Comment/reviews/PMs welcome.

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Thanks to Photogirl1890 for answering my plea on VAMB for help with spotting typos. Much appreciated. 10/2/14

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Acceptance

Their empty plates had been pushed to one side, and they sat facing each other across the small table in the living area of the shuttle, each cradling a drink.

They had shared their thoughts about the day and about the monument itself and all it represented and the conversation had taken them to places they'd never been before in all their seven years of quiet dinners.

Kathryn was staggered by how much he'd held back from her before, and by just how woefully incomplete to say the very least, the received Starfleet analysis of the Maquis and their strategies had been. Even taking into account some of the revisions and concessions that Starfleet Command had made in recent years, when relations with the Cardassians deteriorated and the Maquis had been exonerated, Kathryn was still amazed at how the reality of Chakotay's experience differed from, and at times directly contradicted, the version of events she had been fed at the time.

As well as feeling furious with herself for having accepted Starfleet's version of events too willingly, she found now that she was also furious with herself for having been content to allow Chakotay to be so evasive on the few occasions that she had actually tried to ask him about that part of his life. Only now did she realise just how many partial answers he had supplied and how much he had simply left out.

She had respected his right to privacy and had presumed that he had wished to avoid reliving in the telling of them, events that were undoubtedly painful. She'd assumed that once he agreed to join her crew and embrace Starfleet values again, he would be keen to leave his earlier life behind and move on. He'd always seemed most comfortable in the present; she didn't think of him as someone who spent much time looking back.

Now, suddenly, his attitude couldn't have been more different. The hours they'd spent down on the moon seemed to have completely dismantled the floodgates that must have been holding back his memories. As she listened, she discovered that during the short time he had been a Maquis captain, he'd had what seemed to her like several lifetimes' worth of experiences; experiences she knew absolutely nothing about.

She discovered she was fast losing the sense of complacency she'd had about how well she knew the man sitting opposite her across the little table. All of a sudden the first three days travelling to Tevlik seemed like a different trip completely, severed from this new present by the time spent down on the moon's surface.

The more he recounted, the more she found herself thinking back, again and again, to the man who had materialised on her bridge seven years earlier.

Particularly shocking to her was the revelation of the sheer number of members of his cell who had been killed in the months prior to her following his ship into the Badlands. When he'd begun to describe these events, she'd sat in stunned silence for several minutes, unable to formulate any sort of sensible response. It was a wonder he could still remember their names; some of them had been with him for mere days.

Until that moment, he had only ever talked of it in general terms. Now, he seemed willing to talk in terms of individuals and specifics. He wasn't a particularly loquacious companion usually, and over the years, she'd come to expect it would be up to her to select and direct their topics of conversation when they spent time together. The three-day trip from Earth to Tevlik had followed that familiar pattern.

Since leaving the surface of the moon in the late afternoon, things between them seemed to have undergone some sort of fundamental shift. His habitual reticence seemed to have evaporated completely, as he turned their routine manner of interaction on its head. His mind seemed to be taking an inventory of his life in the Maquis and its significance and he seemed intent on sharing it with her.

The conditions he described in some of the outlying colonies, communities that had found themselves suddenly isolated and vulnerable when the demarcation of the demilitarised zone had been announced, were truly shocking. As were the conditions he had witnessed when his cell had liberated people from the 'displacement' camps the Cardassians had been responsible for. Coming from anyone she trusted less, she would have been sceptical, hesitant to accept such claims. She might have wondered if they were exaggerated. Coming from him she had no such doubts. He was more prone to omission or understatement than to exaggeration.

"If Starfleet Command had known about the conditions in those camps the Cardassians were responsible for, about the brutality you describe, then…" she trailed off, feeling uneasy even as she spoke these words.

"They didn't know, did they?"

He didn't reply. As she studied his face, she could see everything she needed to know in his eyes already. Of course they'd known. He'd told them. Others like him had told them too, but such knowledge had been inconvenient.

The ground shifted a little beneath her again as the unpalatable taste of her own naivety made her feel slightly nauseous for a moment. Was it naivety? Or was it sub-conscious collusion? She wasn't sure. He didn't seem to be surprised by her reaction. She wondered whether he thought of her as someone who was too accepting of received opinions, not enough of a free thinker. She hoped not. She'd always believed she maintained a healthy scepticism when it came to dealing with any large institution, Starfleet included.

She stood to get them both another drink and reflected on the fact that she had found out more about his life in the last few hours than she had in the previous three days, perhaps even in the last seven years.

His seemingly painless transformation from Maquis captain back to Starfleet officer seemed all the more surprising to her now. He had agreed without hesitation to her suggestion that they combine the crews and that had been more than enough at the time, given how traumatic that whole period had been for her. Once he'd accepted, she hadn't spent time reflecting on what his particular anxieties about the situation might have been.

Now, she found herself more than curious as to how he'd squared it with his conscience.

She passed him his tea and sat back down opposite him.

"How did you feel when you became part of a Starfleet crew again? When you agreed to _lead _a Starfleet crew again?"

"There was no choice there for us, for me, you knew that. So I did what I had to."

"But it was difficult?"

"In some ways, yes. But I was lucky in other ways, wasn't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"You. I didn't have to report to Starfleet Command again."

"You mean because of our isolation?"

"Yes, that was part of it, but it was mainly because there was only you. And that wasn't hard. You've always had my respect."

"Almost always."

"No. Always."

"Do you mean to say you didn't actually embrace Starfleet's principles again at that time? You just did what was expedient?"

He sighed and she thought how tired he looked. Weary.

"It was never a question of embracing anything _again,_ I'd never rejected Starfleet's principles; I rejected Command's failure to honour them, to apply them in practice. Your destruction of the array demonstrated to me that you weren't afraid to make the sorts of decisions that Command had balked at. I followed you out there, Kathryn, not them. Surely you realised that?"

Something in his dark eyes drew her in and she understood. Finally.

Surprising as it might seem to him, she hadn't actually realised before, that it had been her decision to destroy the array that had secured his cooperation and his respect. Had she done so, it might have helped her chip away more effectively at the weighty burden of guilt she'd carried for seven years as a result of that decision.

Her ego was not sufficiently large for her to have attributed his cooperation to his respect for her, and her alone. Starfleet Command's under-reporting of the truly complex dynamics of the conflict he had just left behind in the Alpha Quadrant had meant that she had underestimated the depth of his disillusionment with the organisation. As a consequence, she had presumed that he had been willing to pledge his allegiance once again, without significant hesitation; it simply hadn't occurred to her that his assessment of her as an individual had been a deciding factor.

Also, when it came to the specifics of the events on Tevlik's moon and of the erecting of the monument itself, she discovered all had not been as she'd imagined. She'd had no idea the monument had been erected by Sveta and surviving members of the Maquis; she'd presumed it had been Starfleet's doing.

Apparently not.

He told her flatly that Starfleet had yet to get around to commemorating these dead; she said she was sure they would do soon; he seemed unconvinced. Discovering Starfleet's neglect in this had been an unpleasant shock.

She had also been unaware of the fact that the number of dead included a large number of families; women and children who had made the supposed safe-haven their home. Kathryn had presumed it had been an exclusively military installation.

In the fourth year of their journey in the Delta Quadrant, when they had first re-established contact with the Alpha Quadrant, his first letter had been from Sveta. When many other crewmembers had received letters of relief and delight from loved ones who'd presumed the worst, he had received news from Sveta of the massacre, which represented the near annihilation of the remaining Maquis, and he had had to tell his crew. He had told Kathryn about it in very general terms at the time. He had seemed more comfortable talking to her about the letter she'd had and her own loss. She knew he and B'Elanna had lost close friends, but she had never realised quite how many until now.

Neither had she realised how close Chakotay had come to being amongst them. He explained that if he hadn't been hiding in the Badlands that day, he would have been operating out of this base and his name would undoubtedly have been amongst those inscribed on the solitary standing stone of this monument. The same could be said for the other Maquis members of her crew.

A memory of something he'd once said to her on Voyager, after she'd played him a communiqué from Admiral Hayes, came to the forefront of her mind. Hayes had enquired after 'the status' of the Maquis.

"I don't think of you, or B'Elanna or the others as Maquis. I think of you as part of my crew."

"You may have forgotten, but we haven't," he'd replied.

At the time, it had jarred slightly with her. She'd felt foolish for a moment, uncomfortable perhaps, but had fast dismissed it as insignificant. Now, it seemed like it had been a rare, candid moment she should have taken more notice of.

Visiting the site of the monument had proved emotionally draining for Kathryn, as revelation after revelation eroded her sense of well being. She could only guess at what it must have been like for him.

He expressed surprise at just how completely isolated the monument was; no sign whatsoever that there had ever been a base, a settlement of any kind at all. It seemed the Cardassians had held fast to their scorched-earth policy; they'd been as efficient in their destruction here as they had been on his homeworld. He said he hadn't expected to recognise nothing, not even the shape of the landscape.

They waited for their drinks to cool, and she was just about to ask him about how he was finding life back in the Alpha Quadrant, when he began to volunteer information. He said he was finding it hard. He told her of his uncertainties about accepting Starfleet's offer to reinstate him.

She found herself feeling disappointed, and realised she'd been presuming he would accept. After everything he'd shared with her that evening, his hesitation made so much sense now, and hearing him explain his reservations filled her anew with admiration for how he was handling all this uncertainty in his life; handling it like he did pretty much everything, on his own. She knew that was something she wanted to address with him soon. Soon, but not now.

She was here though; he'd invited her, he was talking to her. A lot. That was surely evidence of something.


	2. Chapter 2

They talked late into the evening and eventually parted when he said he wanted to take a shower. He seemed restless, unusually charged somehow, but she felt drained and welcomed the respite from their intense conversation.

In her little cabin, she showered and changed into a plain knee-length nightgown and slipped on her wrap-over robe to go and refill her coffee cup. She expected to find him in the kitchen area, but he wasn't there. Back in her cabin, she shed her robe and got into the bed to read for a while. She found it impossible to concentrate for more than a line or two before her mind wandered.

Chakotay had told her he hadn't made any definite plans beyond this trip yet, but she thought it was very likely the immediate future would take him away from Earth, possibly for an extended period of time.

He would want to go and see his sister, that was certain. Very soon, if not immediately upon their return, she imagined he would be leaving to see the rebuilding of the colony on his homeworld. He would likely spend months there, reconnecting with any family or friends who had survived. If he was unsure whether to accept the commission he'd been offered, he might well decide that his homeworld was where he wanted to stay, at least while he considered his options. Those working in the reconstruction programme would be delighted to have someone of his abilities and experience. Even his minor celebrity status could be an asset they might be able to exploit to aid the project. She didn't know whether he had any close friends on Earth, but she was pretty confident he had no close relatives there. Unless of course there were more things he'd omitted to tell her…

Her mind then drifted to wondering about how their friendship would be likely to withstand a prolonged separation.

She thought back to the moment when she had first come to the realisation that she wasn't ready to watch him walk out of her life. It had been at the Homecoming Banquet, only days after their return, before the dust from their explosive re-entry into life in the Alpha Quadrant had even had a chance to settle.

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x

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The Homecoming Banquet: three weeks earlier

For the first part of the evening Kathryn had been completely occupied with her mother and her sister. Nothing had prepared her for how it felt to be engulfed in their joint embrace. She'd rarely allowed herself to contemplate what it would have been like to accept that she would never see them again. It would've been like closing down a part of herself.

As she held tightly onto them both, almost desperately at first, she had felt optimistic; she'd felt as if she would be able to regain access to the full width, depth and breadth of her own personality. She would learn to integrate her experiences in the Delta Quadrant into the continuity of her life as a whole, and achieve some perspective on the past seven years. She would be a more rounded human being again, with their support and their laughter and their love.

And God how they'd laughed! After they'd cried of course.

There wasn't anyone in all the four quadrants who would ever be able to make her laugh the way her sister could. How could they? In so many ways they were polar opposites, but Phoebe's wicked sense of humour was so refreshing for Kathryn. She was _so_ looking forward to speaking freely, without having to worry whether her observations were unprofessional, unjustified, unwise or un-anything. It was also true, however, that there weren't many people who could get under her skin and provoke her the way her sister could. She dared to hope that the years might have rounded some of her sister's sharper edges...

Chakotay had arrived on his own. His surviving family had not yet been able to make the trip to Earth. He had spent the first part of the evening with a small group, who Kathryn knew must be former Maquis. Central to this group was a tall, slim, stunningly beautiful woman with almost translucent skin. Kathryn knew this must be Sveta, the woman who had been his lover when he was a young man at the Academy, and who had later recruited him into the Maquis. The woman fitted the description B'Elanna had given of her years ago, and it wasn't exactly difficult to identify her, as distinctive looking as she was. The attention of everyone in the small group seemed to be fixed on her; her direct gaze was fixed on Chakotay.

The only other time early evening that Chakotay had caught Kathryn's attention had been when she had been only half-listening to the Doctor prattling away beside her. She'd noticed Chakotay in a corner of the ballroom, having what had looked like a very intense conversation with Seven, who had only arrived a few moments before that with the Doctor.

Seven was clearly upset and trying to explain something to Chakotay. Everything about her body language screamed of her discomfort and her desire to re-establish some distance between them. From Chakotay's expression as Seven spoke, Kathryn thought he looked resigned, deflated. They exchanged a few more words and he seemed to collect himself.

Kathryn watched as he lifted his hand towards Seven's face and gently caressed her cheek. There was certainly tenderness there, but Kathryn thought his caress also seemed to have a finality to it. A gesture of closure?

After a few minutes, Kathryn had watched as Seven had simply walked off and left him standing on his own. Whatever had transpired between them, it didn't look to Kathryn like he had been the driving force behind it. He looked tired and lost.

Chakotay and Seven. The body blow it had been when Admiral Janeway had told her that he would one day be Seven's husband. It had left her momentarily winded. The events that followed having been as chaotic and dramatic as they were, she hadn't had the time to examine further what her strong reaction to the news of their relationship really meant. She had pushed those feelings down and closed them off, whilst she scaled the mountain of issues that had erupted in front of her as a result of their unexpected return.

It hadn't been until late in the evening at the banquet that she found herself no longer able to avoid some of those feelings.

After the formal promotions and the banquet, there had been dancing.

Kathryn had been in demand right from the very first dance. Admiral Paris had insisted she take to the floor with him, in front of everyone, immediately the music had started up. She'd smiled her most radiant smile and had embraced the moment for what it was. She had actually enjoyed being guided round the floor by Paris senior; he was an experienced and relatively skilful dancer for a man of his years and stature.

She had danced with the Doctor and with several others, and found herself accepting Tom Paris's hand as he asked her if she'd take her chances with Paris Junior, making some quip about her having to promise not to entertain any expectations that he could dance this sort of dance anywhere near as well as his father.

"I'm in need of a partner, since your former first officer has stolen my lovely wife, as you can see."

He motioned towards B'Elanna, dancing with Chakotay on the other side of the room. Chakotay was guiding her through a series of gentle moves, in a very subdued fashion, holding her as if she were made of porcelain. A week after having given birth Kathryn thought B'Elanna was doing well to still be up at this hour at all.

She watched as Tom caught B'Elanna's eye, and something passed between them. Tom steered himself and Kathryn over towards the other couple and B'Elanna said something to Chakotay and he looked over towards Tom and Kathryn as they approached.

"Captain, I mean _Admiral_, I need my husband back now. I'm done for the evening, Tom, I need to get back to my little one. This big one's all yours, Admiral; he's driving me crazy anyway! Treating me like I'm going to break the whole damn time!"

Chakotay grinned and kissed B'Elanna on the cheek, bidding her and Tom goodnight.

He held out his hand to Kathryn.

"Would you care to dance, _Admiral_? See, some of us can get it right first time."

"I'd love to," she replied, accepting the offered hand.

They started to move around the dance floor and she knew they were being watched, but she had felt that way all evening, so she refused to pay the feeling much attention. In any case it was high time she stopped worrying what other people thought about seeing the two of them together in pubic in any sort of close proximity. She hadn't even had time to think about what _she_ thought now about the two of them being in public in close proximity for God's sake!

As they moved together around the dance floor and exchanged a few remarks about how the evening had gone so far, Kathryn wanted to ask about what she had observed earlier between him and Seven; but somehow she couldn't. She didn't want to have Seven figure at all in this moment shared between them. Neither did she want to make him feel as if he were obliged to explain himself.

After their initial small talk they both fell silent for a while and she felt him pull her closer, holding her in a way that made her feel like a woman dancing with a man, rather than a newly minted Admiral socialising with her subordinate.

Kathryn wondered why she didn't feel angry with him for pulling her into a far more intimate hold, when he was supposed to be in the early stages of romantic involvement elsewhere. No one could have been more surprised than she was to discover that she didn't care. Perhaps this intimate moment would go some way to banish her memory of standing on the bridge without him by her side, when they'd made their dramatic entrance a few days before?

The last time they had danced had been a very memorable occasion she had chosen not to think about in two years. They had been alone, and the dance had only lasted a few minutes before it had become something quite else. Here in the Starfleet Banquet hall, she wondered if it were possible that his mind was going back to that night in holographic Venice too? She felt herself shiver slightly as the feel of his body so close to hers evoked an even more powerful sense memory of the only kiss they had ever shared.

For a few seconds she felt as if the intervening years hadn't happened, and they were back there on the holodeck. It was breath-taking how quickly the feelings associated with those memories returned as well.

"Are you alright, Kathryn?" he asked, as he must have noticed her slight shiver. Of course. He could be relied upon to notice everything.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, smiling up at him, "it's just beginning to really sink in," she evaded, "we're really home."

"Yes, we are, Kathryn. You were always going to get us home."

"_We_ were always going to get us home, you mean. As you were so fond of reminding me, it wasn't like I was ever really on my own now, was it?"

She hoped that injecting some levity would relieve some of the tension, as it had many times before. This was their way of handling their latent attraction after all. They were both well practised at holding one conversation with words, to obfuscate the underlying, untenable one that had started with a look or a simple touch.

"No, you weren't; but I don't think there's any doubt about who got us home in the end. Admiral Janeway gave her life for us. That isn't something I'm going to forget in a hurry. _You_ got us home, Kathryn."

He wasn't playing his part. He looked directly into her eyes and the fingers of his left hand tightened their hold on her hand slightly and his thumb moved to caress the side of her finger.

She felt time collapse in on itself. The distance that had expanded between them over the last few years seemed to instantly contract, and she found herself looking into the eyes of the man she had known so well, the man she had felt so close to for so long, in the middle years of their journey.

She wondered how on earth that was possible.

For months, years even, she'd felt as if life in the Delta quadrant had been gradually eroding layers of the feelings they had once had for each other, and she'd felt powerless to stop it. The slowly expanding distance between them had been unwelcome, but there were days when she had wondered if it was inevitable, necessary even, given the impossibility of their situation. Just because she wouldn't let them meet their need for love, for touch, for real intimacy together, didn't negate the existence of those needs. They had both discovered that their needs had a way of asserting themselves. They had both looked and found elsewhere. And each time either of them had found, it had had consequences for their close friendship.

But then, as he looked down into her eyes and this distance contracted, some of the feelings she'd presumed had been casualties of that estrangement seemed to be alive again and flowing freely between them. He didn't even seem to be trying to dissimulate the powerful longing in his eyes.

A slower song started up and he didn't make to release her. Before she knew it, she'd allowed her temple to rest against his cheek. She felt him respond immediately by pulling her slightly closer still, pressing his cheek gently against her skin and then turning his face a fraction to connect his lips with her forehead momentarily.

His behaviour here was so uncharacteristically demonstrative that she felt uneasy. Perhaps he was steeling himself to say goodbye to her? Perhaps he thought this was the beginning of the end of their involvement as friends, colleagues… as anything?

She suddenly felt indescribably sad, and almost clung onto him. As he continued to slowly lead her around the dance floor, her mind raced. Now, they were back. She was no longer his captain; she was no longer responsible for his life. She was finally free to renegotiate with her heart, the terms on which it would engage with him. Provided of course he still had any feelings for her and was free to pursue them. Two things that were far from certain.

Even if her intuition about the nature of the exchange she'd witnessed between him and Seven proved accurate, it didn't preclude the possibility that he still had strong, unresolved feelings for the former Borg. He might also believe he had messed things up so badly, by involving himself with Seven, that his friendship with Kathryn was beyond repair.

The possibility that he could think that this was goodbye completely floored her. It was something she hadn't anticipated. She realised she'd taken his continuing friendship for granted.

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x

* * *

Kathryn's instincts had been right on two counts. When she'd called him the next day to suggest they meet up, he had been inordinately pleased, surprised. It seemed like he had indeed been thinking she wouldn't want to maintain everyday contact. She had also been right about what she'd observed in the corner of the banquet hall.

They'd met up for lunch and over dessert he'd mumbled the news of the end of his brief romantic involvement with Seven, clearly embarrassed by the whole thing. That had been the only time either of them had referred to it. Kathryn knew they should really have cleared the air more comprehensively, but she discovered she felt almost as uncomfortable talking about it as she imagined he did. She had been surprised to find him a little nervous and over attentive around her. She concluded that his forwardness towards her on the night of the banquet must have been a result of the stress he'd been under that night. Now, it was as if he believed he needed to be on his best behaviour to gain her acceptance as a friend here. Perhaps he believed that their friendship had been born of necessity alone for her, and would fall away, now she was free to reconnect with her 'real' friends? She knew only too well how fear of losing someone could make you cautious; and it was easy to underestimate how much he'd already lost.

The debriefings were nothing if not brief, and when they were over and it became clear they would no longer be inexorably part of each other's daily existence, they had continued to seek each other out and their friendship had begun to solidify again. Kathryn was pleased they were on such good terms once more, but she wanted to find a way to explore other possibilities between them, before their friendship became immutable. She didn't want to force the issue herself however; she felt desperate to give him back some control. She didn't want to feel like she was in charge of defining things between them any longer. It was one of a whole host of responsibilities, the sweet release from which she would relish as they dropped away.

At the same time, however, she became increasingly aware that every aspect of his life was up for renegotiation; he was pretty much a stateless person right now. That level of pervasive uncertainty would be hard for even the most grounded of people to address. There just might not be enough room in his head to deal with redefining his relationship with her as well right now.

Their sudden return had obviously brought considerable challenges and uncertainties for all of the crew, but Kathryn realised very soon that there would inevitably be additional stresses for the former members of the Maquis. She had been filled with admiration for the manner in which many of them, Chakotay included, had coped with the first few days. She had made herself available to anyone who needed her help, as their collective and individual fates were decided, pardons were finally issued, field commissions recognised, new positions sought and found and relatives searched for and contacted, or sometimes mourned.

She was very much aware that at this time, above all else, Chakotay needed a friend with whom he could discuss the choices before him; ideally an objective friend who didn't have their own agenda with him influencing their judgment. She had been trying hard to be such a friend.

A week or so ago, he'd made a comment that had caught her off guard. Someone had forgotten to use her new title and he'd said,

"You'll always be 'Captain' to me."

"I hope not!" she replied immediately, but he hadn't seemed to read anything into her response. He'd just shot a friendly smile her way.

It was impossible to ignore as well, that all of the Voyagers would continue to 'enjoy' a certain celebrity status for some time. After herself and Seven, Chakotay was probably the next most identifiable crewmember. He would remain the subject, or perhaps the object, of a great deal of attention, a good proportion of it female no doubt, for some time to come.

Kathryn had felt obliged to ask herself whether she was willing or able to compete in the face of literally worlds of choice. True, she still believed he had fallen in love with her once, years ago, but they had been isolated and forced together. Now they would both be faced with a wealth of possible partners and would be separated by a wealth of other commitments. He would meet other women, younger women, women with less baggage, uncomplicated women. She would meet other men. She'd already been propositioned several times in the first few weeks. If the strange correspondence she was receiving was anything to go by, Chakotay would have had several 'offers' already, and plenty of women would have found ways to demonstrate their willingness to get to know the famous reformed rebel returnee.

However, his invitation to join him on this trip, along with other invitations to lunch and dinner, meant that she felt sure that he did wish to keep her as a constant in his life. What she was less sure of now, several weeks down the line, was whether he would ever think of her as anything more than a very special, close friend now.

After the initial elation on seeing her family and friends again after so long, Kathryn would have been loathe to admit it to anyone, but she was actually finding reconnecting meaningfully with them to be very complicated. Seven years is a long time, easily long enough to become an irrelevance. Friends had children now, husbands, new careers, whole new lives. Her mother was the same, but her sister was different, harder. She struggled to feel needed by any of them sometimes.

When she didn't see Chakotay for a couple of days, she'd found herself feeling his absence. Surprising herself with the need, the hunger she felt to see him. A very real hunger to see the man whose presence she had taken for granted for seven years.

As the days had turned into weeks, she began to accept that her relationship with him was probably one of the most defining of her adult life. She also began to accept that if she were to allow herself to inhabit fully the feelings he inspired in her, she would probably find that she was in love with him. _Still _in love with him perhaps? Despite everything.

But life had already taught her that loving someone isn't always enough.

* * *

x

* * *

Whilst she had been lost in thought, another half hour had gone by. They'd shared a nightcap each night, before turning in, and so she wondered if he'd be fixing them one tonight. She got up and pulled on her robe again to go and find him.


	3. Chapter 3

She padded out to look for him again. He still wasn't in the small kitchen area.

He'd gone for a shower over two hours ago now. Even if he didn't feel like sharing a nightcap tonight, it was very unlikely he'd just go to bed without saying goodnight. Perhaps he'd lain down for a few minutes and fallen asleep? It had been a draining experience for her, so God knows what it must have been like for him.

She wandered across to his cabin to say goodnight. She activated the door. He wasn't there. She called his name in case he was in the bathroom, but there was no reply. Then again, after so long, there was no way he could still be in the shower. She stood for a second wondering where he could possibly be, then walked up to the door to the tiny bathroom and put her ear to it. She was pretty sure she could still hear the shower. Suddenly, she felt worried that he'd slipped and knocked himself unconscious or something unlikely like that, so she called his name loudly again, right outside the door. Still nothing, so she pressed the door release. It wasn't locked.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" She gasped, rooted to the spot in the doorway.

The shower was still on, but he wasn't standing under it. He was seated on the solitary chair in there, bent over, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands, shoulders shaking with unmistakable tremors, his whole body trembling as if he were caught in the aftershocks of some sort of explosion. She noticed a basin on the floor beside him.

As she registered his distress, her heart ached to see such a strong, private man so exposed. She felt like a voyeur, a spectator to his pain. She thought he looked strangely beautiful, and familiar, even though she hadn't seen so much of his bronze skin since New Earth years ago. Confused by and ashamed of some of these responses, she immediately backed out of the bathroom into the doorway, torn between her desire to offer help and comfort and her awareness of the need to respect his privacy.

* * *

It wasn't until she spoke, that he became aware of her standing there and turned towards the doorway, head still held in his hands. On registering her confusion, he quickly rubbed a hand across his face and readjusted the towel around his waist as he stood. He cleared his throat, trying to summon an expression that would reassure her. If only he'd heard her come in, he would have pulled himself together before she'd had to witness this. At least he'd rinsed out the basin. He was far more embarrassed about her walking in on him obviously in pieces and nauseous than anything else.

He had been unprepared for how he would crumble, the minute he'd found himself alone. As he'd stood under the shower, eyes closed, every few minutes he'd remembered another face. Someone he hadn't thought about in years. It had hit him anew each time. He felt as angry as hell all over again, and so unspeakably sad. The futility of it all was suffocating.

He had tried to talk to her about some of it at dinner, and had come a long way with her, but he didn't honestly know if he believed she could really understand. She'd never experienced anything like the life they'd had here. She was from a completely different world, quite literally. But he knew that whether she really understood or not wasn't the issue. Her presence afforded him comfort.

Which was exactly why he hadn't come here alone. Part of him suspected there might be some sort of fallout, but he hadn't thought there was any point trying to anticipate the shades of feeling this place would evoke in him. He knew now that he'd seriously underestimated how much it would affect him. He was a little less sure right now that it had been the right thing to do to bring her. Admitting to her just how completely this had floored him, how his coping mechanisms were failing right now, wouldn't be easy.

He cleared his throat again and found his voice, "I'm..." but she cut him off.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have come in, but you've been such a long time, I started to worry you might have fallen and hit your head or something improbable..."

"I'm all right, really... I just hadn't expected I'd be seeing my dinner again..."

"Look, I'll go and…."

"No… I'm glad you did... come to find me... I'm glad you're here, Kathryn. Wait, I'll be right out."

He reached to switch off the shower, and leant over the small washbasin to splash water on his face.

"Of course, if you're sure that's what you want,' she replied, sounding uncertain.

As she retreated and the door closed, he called on every reserve he had to try and get himself together.

* * *

She took a few steps back into his tiny cabin and sat on his bunk. She caught him in her peripheral vision, just before the door release took effect. He tossed the towel aside and pulled on some well-worn boxing shorts. A few moments later he emerged, still naked to the waist, clearly a lot more at ease with his state of undress than she was. She tried not to allow her gaze to wander as she felt the colour in her face rising.

He sat down next to her on the bed. She wasn't sure which was more noticeable, the warmth or the obvious tension still rolling off him in waves.

"I'm sorry if I alarmed you, you really don't need to worry."

"Do I look worried?"

"Yes, frankly, you do, at least a little." He looked at her and smiled, already managing to produce the semblance of a more relaxed expression. "I drank a little water, and that's stayed down, so I think it's passing."

She didn't ask exactly what 'it' was.

"Well, I'll admit I was a little thrown for a minute, but that's not what's important here. If you want me to go, I'll..."

He put his hand firmly on her leg to emphasise his point,

"Kathryn, you're not listening. I already said I'm glad you came to find me. I don't want you to go."

"OK, I'm sorry, you're right, I'm a little distracted, I suppose today has shaken me too."

"I can understand that. It was enough to shake anyone."

They sat side by side; the quiet hum of the shuttle's engines the only noise. He ran both his hands once or twice through his wet hair and she noticed him taking controlled, even breaths and wondered whether he'd share the details of his distress with her. She was out of her depth here, and painfully aware of it. His uncharacteristic loquaciousness and the way he'd seemed kind of charged earlier seemed more significant now. If he was having some sort of delayed stress reaction, she knew he should seek professional help. She also knew him, and knew how unlikely it was that he would. Perhaps that was why he'd invited her? Perhaps he'd rather talk to her? That might well be the case, but she couldn't deny it was both strange and uncomfortable to see the man who'd been her rock for seven years breaking in front of her. She attempted to put her own discomfort to one side.

"Do you feel shaken? A little guilty perhaps?" she ventured carefully.

"That I wasn't here? Of course, but that's faded a little over the years. Now, I mostly feel indescribably sad, and just now, remembering people, so many people, I started to feel that… rage… start to grip me again. It's...it's hard to explain."

"You're explaining it just fine."

For some reason, her saying that seemed to act as the kiss of death to his ability to verbalise.

They sat in silence again for several minutes.

He seemed to be studying his hands resting in his lap. She was just wondering whether he'd prefer to be left alone now, to finish his night time routines without her looking on, when finally he spoke.

"I did things."

She turned her face towards him and studied his downcast profile, determined not to betray the anxiety she suddenly felt. Whether it was anxiety for herself or for him, she wasn't sure.

"Do you want to tell me about those... things?"

Eyes still focussing down, he seemed to gather himself for a moment, before she caught his low response.

"No."

"Then don't," she stated immediately, the words out of her mouth before she took in their significance.

He turned his head towards her, obvious tension in his face as he forced himself to meet her eyes.

"Don't you want to know?"

Her response was clearly incredibly important to him and she felt the full weight and responsibility of this unwelcome dynamic.

"Not if you don't want to tell me. No. I don't need to know. It wouldn't change anything I think about you."

As he continued to look at her, his brow unknotted and several tears spilled over his cheeks, as if of their own volition. He looked as if her response has taken him so much by surprise, that all of his attention had switched to focus on the significance of her words, and as a result he'd simply forgotten to continue holding his body's physical reaction to his distress in check.

"What about how you feel? Would it change that?" he asked, still seemingly oblivious to the tears silently leaking out.

"No, it wouldn't."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

Several seconds passed and just when she was about to speak, he continued.

"I know it should be enough, you saying that, but I guess it's hard to believe you, because you don't know what it is you're dismissing."

Several more seconds elapsed.

"I didn't feel remorse; I wasn't interested in feeling anything then. It wasn't some noble crusade, you know; there was nothing romantic about our existence. Sometimes there were...just shades of grey."

She bit back her immediate response, which was to say she understood, because on reflection, she was well aware she didn't really understand.

What was disconcerting was that he wasn't that far off the mark. When she thought of his time in the Maquis, she did think of him as fighting the noble cause, defending the vulnerable who were unable to defend themselves. Now, she considered that while all that might well be true, it didn't describe the entirety of his experiences. She was more comfortable thinking of him as a victim of injustice who fought back with righteous indignation. Perhaps she wasn't comfortable with the darker side of the conflict where there were only shades of grey? It's one thing to use an expression like that, but quite another to have lived the experiences it conceals.

"I still don't. Feel remorse I mean. Not really. What sort of man does that make me?"

She weighed her next words very carefully.

"We both know I can't grant you absolution, or even really say I understand everything you did, but you have to believe me when I say I accept it. I can accept everything that's a part of you. I already have. I just want to be sure you know that."

The fact they'd made it back had gone some way to lessen the impact of the one decision that had tormented her for seven years; she knew she needed to start to work on finally letting go of more of that guilt. But things were very different for him. It seemed his guilt had been waiting for him here, to ambush him.

She wondered how it would impact on the identity he had been carefully constructing for himself since their return to the Alpha Quadrant. These first few weeks back had already shown her that it would be hard for him to find much continuity, as he tried to integrate the radically divergent periods of his life into a consistent sense of self. She wondered now just how many more times he could reinvent himself: would this be the fourth? Hardly surprising then, that he should be floundering here, now.

"But you believed then that everything you had to do was justified?"

A pause, then,

"No."

She swallowed, maintaining eye contact.

Eventually he continued, looking away from her and down at his hands again.

"There were times when part of me knew I should've stopped short of… but not a big enough part."

Her hand reached across and took his right hand and held it between hers. She wanted him here in the present with her. Not back there in his head.

"Well, that was over seven years ago now, Chakotay, you are no longer that man, and perhaps you can't make peace with everything you once were or did, but I do believe you should forgive yourself and allow yourself to leave it in the past where it belongs. Don't you?"

"Yes I do. But today has been... Before you came in. I was back there. And I didn't feel like I've moved on."

She could see a part of him had been crushed by the weight of the realisation that if it came down to it, he believed he would do most of those things again. A realisation that seemed to have left him wretchedly disappointed in himself.

The weight of his hand in hers, the feel of his warm skin on hers was reassuring for her. But he seemed to be somewhere else still. Her fingers gently stroked the back of his hand, trying again to bring him back.

"Just because you've changed or moved on in some ways doesn't mean that you wouldn't still feel a connection to the man you were before. There has to be some continuity, Chakotay, that's a _good _thing, surely? You had good reasons for the things you did, and if there were moments of... excess, then they were understandable, even if they weren't always entirely justified. You weren't a saint on a crusade, you just told me that. It was a war."

"But I knew how unlikely it was we'd succeed. That's what's hard. Part of me knew, but I ignored that part. When I resigned my commission, I wasn't naive, Kathryn. I was well aware of my own insignificance to an organisation that size. I was old enough and wise enough to know it wouldn't make a difference. But I did it anyway. And in some ways it was the same in the Maquis. I wanted revenge, and there were enough people ready to follow, who had faith, who believed we'd make a difference."

"But you believed that too, surely?"

She wondered if he had any idea how much the ground had already shifted beneath her feet today. She wasn't sure she could cope with many more unexpected revelations; but he seemed determined to share with her so she steeled herself for his reply.

"Yes, I did; or I wouldn't have been able to function."

She tried to distract him from sensing her relief on hearing this by tracing lines with her fingers across the back of the hand she was still holding. He went on.

"But what's surprising is that as well as holding that belief, in good faith, I also understood the situation from a purely tactical perspective. I also knew that we were doomed from the beginning. But I couldn't see another path then. Some days it was a matter of how much havoc we could wreak, and how many Cardassians I could take with me. I had nothing left to lose. I risked my own life, and I don't feel guilty for that, just lucky I survived; but I also risked the lives of others. It's hard to make sense of it all... I can only find the feelings here now, not the thinking behind what I did then."

"Well, perhaps that has to be enough, for now at least?" He didn't seem to register her interjection and carried on.

"I can't imagine how they kept going, what they told themselves, once the Dominion and the Jem'Hadar joined the Cardassians... it was hard enough before... Having the moral high ground is little consolation when your people are being picked off one by one. The end must have been terrifying. Hopeless."

She wasn't going to try and counter that with platitudes. They sat silently again for a few minutes.

Then she squeezed his hand firmly.

"Is there a fund, for the Maquis who survived, who weren't on the base at the time, for their families?"

Finally he looked up.

"Yes, Sveta and the others started one. I organised donations a few weeks ago when I first saw her."

"That's good. I'll make a donation when we get back. You should ask _all _the crew, Chakotay. I'm surprised you didn't."

"Yes, I intended to give out the details to everyone, I just hadn't gotten around to it."

He seemed calmer now, and was breathing normally at least. After a few more minutes she found she was ready to tell him what had been at the back of her mind when they had returned from the moon's surface earlier.

"I wish I had done more to influence Starfleet's thinking about this conflict _before _all this was allowed to happen."

"You? Why?"

"It was all preventable, we both know that. Starfleet _chose_ not to intervene."

He sighed and shook his head slightly.

"Kathryn, you bear no responsibly for any of this. There's no way you can make this something you personally should feel guilty for. You need to resist that impulse. There's no sense in it."

She thought how strange it was that he, of all people, still seemed to believe that she had always made moral decisions, when he knew for a fact that she was quite capable of drastically misjudging things. Faith. He still had faith in her.

"Perhaps," she said slowly, "How about I agree to try not to feel guilty I didn't involve myself in the events that brought about this conflict, and you agree to try and forgive yourself for the some of the things you found yourself doing?"

She held her breath, as her question hung between them.

He cocked his head to the side to look at her, "Agreed. We try."

For a moment, she was occupied with feeling reassured by what she could see in his eyes and by the small smile he'd managed; but the feeling soon transmuted into something else, as she realised he was now fully back in the room with her and they had both become acutely aware of her fingers caressing the back of his hand. _Caressing_.

She stilled their movement, returning to simply holding his hand between hers again and asked,

"How about a nightcap? Do you think you could stomach one now?"

"Well, there's one way to find out. Come on." He stood slowly and she stood with him, letting go of his hand.

With only a tiny space between them as they stood, side by side in the little cabin, he finally seemed to become aware of his state of undress. He immediately reached up to an overhead locker for a t-shirt and pulled it on in one swift movement. She edged past as he did this, looking anywhere but at him, acutely aware that there was no space here that his physical presence didn't fill; he was a big man and this was a tiny cabin; there was no space that wasn't infused with his familiar scent. It was having an effect on her that she knew he was completely oblivious to, and that felt completely wrong right now. She needed to retreat to more neutral terrain, where the sorts of images she was trying not to allow to form in her imagination could be more easily repressed.

In the little kitchen, they stood side by side, leaning against the worktop, and he got out the glasses and poured them both a shot of whisky. As Kathryn accepted the small glass, she noticed his hand was still shaking very slightly.

They clinked their glasses and drank, and managed a few minutes talk about their plans for the final two days of their trip. He mentioned that Sveta would rendezvous with them tomorrow for a few hours, as she was taking a group of visitors to the monument, and she'd suggested they catch up where their flight paths crossed. Whilst he had been speaking Kathryn had been watching him carefully and could see he was fighting exhaustion. He soon fell silent again, so she decided it was time to rest.

"It's late, we should get some sleep," she said. He turned his head slightly to look her full in the face.

"Kathryn..."

It seemed like a question but nothing followed. She held his gaze, his expression unreadable.

"What is it?"

He put down his drink.

"Can I… I mean… can I hold you? I just…"

As he spoke, something flickered through his dark eyes that made her wonder if this question had caught him as much by surprise as it had her.

"Of course."

Without hesitation, she put down her glass and moved to stand directly in front of him.

He reached for her and pulled her gently to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Her arms slid around his middle and her hands felt the warm contours of the muscles of his broad back through his t-shirt. The side of her face came to rest against his neck and she felt him tuck her head under his chin, his face turned down to press into her hair.

As she relaxed into his arms a little, she felt him inhale and exhale steadily several times and eventually, as he pulled her closer still, the slight trembling she'd perceived in the muscles in his thighs stilled. Despite this, there was still such a tension to his embrace. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and perhaps still a little accelerated. She'd hugged him briefly once or twice before, but they'd only ever been this close for this long once before; it'd been a very different, but similarly intense moment.

She shifted slightly, turning her face up towards him. His eyes were closed. He seemed to have clamped himself around her somehow, a hint of desperation in the force of his hold.

"I might need to breathe in a minute here…. You can relax you know, I'm not going anywhere," she said gently.

"'m sorry." He mumbled into her hair and his arms loosened slightly around her. "Better?"

"Yes, much better." She looked up again; his eyes were still closed. She began to feel his warmth heating her up.

"Thank you, Kathryn. For coming here with me. For… this."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you asked me to come."

Wrapped up in his arms she closed her eyes and let her body mould itself a little more to his. Surrounded by his warmth she listened again to the sound of his heartbeat, steadier now, strong and comforting. He was silent for so long that she began to wonder if exhaustion had finally caught up with him and he was starting to drift off right there. Then his low voice surprised her.

"I don't want to lose the man I've become by your side. Right now I'm not sure I can be that man without you….and…and that's not how I want to feel."

His admission sliced through her. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had been that honest with her.

"That won't happen."

"What won't happen?"

"You wouldn't lose the man you've become." She surprised herself by how confident her reply sounded.

"I don't know what I want anymore."

She could hear in his voice that exhaustion was now slowly claiming him, and the weight of his arms around her shoulders seemed to have increased a little.

Her confidence ebbed. She reminded herself he wasn't talking about wanting _her_. She was struck again by how different their experience of coming here had been. He was so exhausted by it all he could barely hold back sleep; she was completely wide awake now, her mind still reeling with the implications of everything he'd told her tonight.

If she had felt more confident about what he wanted from her now, she would have led him back to his cabin and climbed into bed with him, if only to continue holding him. But she didn't feel at all sure and she didn't want to become another problem he had to deal with.

When the time felt right, she wanted to be free to express without restraint everything she felt for him; to finally approach him as a responsive and giving lover, not as a carefully controlled friend.

"We can't stay standing here all night, you know. You need to sleep now. We both do."

Eventually he responded, kissing her hair as he released her.

"Sleep well, Kathryn."

She reached up on tiptoe to place the gentlest of kisses on his lips.

"Goodnight, Chakotay."

* * *

The end: My story 'A Whole lot of Nothing' can be read a sequel to this.


End file.
